


Toil and Trouble

by genginger



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Enthusiastic Consent, F/M, Love Potion/Spell, Potions, consent happens before imbibing though, sex under the influence, texting in Thedas, unreformed Sebastian Vael
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-04
Updated: 2020-04-04
Packaged: 2021-02-28 19:20:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,234
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23482312
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/genginger/pseuds/genginger
Summary: Celia Hawke is a professional potion brewer. When an unexpected guest turns up, they decide to try a sample. After all, what could possibly go wrong?Modern AU where Hawke is an emancipated mage who makes a living brewing potions. This was supposed to be a smutty one shot, but then Varric started texting and I started wondering how potions actually work, and things got complicated. Also, I probably listened to too much Adele.
Relationships: Female Hawke/Sebastian Vael
Comments: 16
Kudos: 30





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> You can't be forced to join the Chantry in this modern era, so Sebastian is a professional younger brother. He's not nearly as happy in that role as Varric manages to be.

The fog rolled towards land from the Waking Sea, curling in the air like a second set of waves. It washed over the rocks and crept between the branches of the lone tree outside the house on the bluffs. Celia Hawke sat in an armchair by the window in the dim light cast by her laptop screen, glad to be home. She pitied the idiots out on Shipwreck Beach right now in the cold and wet. It was a foolish night for a party, but music and shouting drifted up the hill on the wind, and the light of a bonfire reflected off the boulders in the water that gave the beach its name. She hoped they’d brought enough wood to keep themselves warm.

Her phone buzzed on the table beside her. 

10:59pm New message from Varric Tethras

She lifted the phone and let it unlock, reflecting, as she often did, that facial recognition was seriously creepy but also temptingly convenient. Her father would be rolling in his grave if he knew she hadn’t turned it off.

VT : We misssssss yooooooooooo come play kitten

Hawke smiled and shook her head. 

11:01pm  
VT: That was not actually me.  
CH: No shit. Love to Isabela.  
VT: You could still come back and join us, though.  
CH: I just got here! I’m enjoying the quiet.

The truth was, she hadn’t been in the mood for people tonight, not even her friends. If it was pathetic that she’d rather be reviewing her lab notes alone on a Friday night, then fine. So be it. Her mabari slowly rose from his bed at the end of the couch, stalking toward the kitchen with a low growl. She sat up, listening, but she couldn’t hear anything wrong. She rose and followed, still clutching her phone. When Ser Bark — the name was Carver’s fault — reached the back door, his growling intensified. 

11:08pm  
CH: Well I WAS enjoying the quiet.  
CH: Bark’s on about something. Going outside to check.

For the last few years, she’d been living in Kirkwall. But in the process of untangling Gamlen’s finances in order to reclaim the Amell estate for her mother, she’d also managed to gain access to this place. It was the result of another of her uncle’s gambling escapades — a barn purchased to house a racehorse that turned out to be quicker with his teeth than his heels. It wasn’t Dogmeat’s fault that someone had over-hyped his pedigree; Gamlen didn’t know a thing about horses. His dreams of breeding a string of winners came to an abrupt end when Dogmeat failed to place in a single race, being far more interested in menacing the competition than in running. 

He’d been all too happy to sell the place to Celia, and when she needed solitude, this is where she went. It was far enough away from the city not to be cluttered up with the glossy steel and glass mansions of the rich, down a pitted, one lane road that meant she didn’t get a lot of passers-by. It might be just half an acre of dirt and scrub, a single tree, a barn, and a small, poorly-insulated cottage, but it was by far her favorite place in the Free Marches. 

“I’m coming, hang on,” she said to the dog, and plugged in her phone before grabbing a flashlight out of a drawer and opening the back door. Ser Bark pushed past her as soon as it was open, barking a warning as he ran toward the barn.

She and Bark weren’t entirely alone here — there was still Dogmeat, after all. Picking up strays was something of a Hawke family tradition. At their peak in Lothering, they’d had four cats, a rabbit, two dogs, a family of mice, and an ornery goat. Luckily, Dogmeat was better with people than other horses. Celia paid one of her neighbors to look after him and he seemed to love the kid. But horses and humans weren’t the only things that lived on the bluffs, and she hoped he was all right. 

Stepping out the back door, Celia shivered as the wind whipped wet and cold against the back of her neck. One of the barn doors was swinging open, though she’d latched them shut at dusk. Cautiously, she followed Ser Bark inside. It wasn’t a large building; stalls along one wall, walkway down the other, hayloft overhead. 

Instead of the raccoon or giant spider she’d expected, the beam of her flashlight revealed the figure of a man stumbling toward the loft ladder. _He must be one of the beach people_ , she thought, _high off his ass, probably._ He looked sweaty and disheveled even by the beam of her flashlight, and he flinched when she turned on the overhead light. He was tall and wore dark dress clothes streaked with mud around the cuffs and knees. An expensive haircut framed strong brows over startling blue eyes and an aristocratic nose. With a blink, Celia realized she’d seen him before, most recently on the cover of one of her mother’s society magazines.

The man glanced toward the rear of the building, and then back to Ser Bark. He smoothed his hair, tugged at his jacket, and stood up straight. The smile he gave her was the polite apology of someone who had lost his way to the bathroom in a fancy hotel. 

“I’m very sorry to bother you. I didn’t think anyone was here.” He had an appealing voice, melodic, with a thick Starkhaven accent. 

Dogmeat kicked the stall door behind him, and he flinched. 

“What are you doing in my barn?” asked Celia. 

He looked her over, and Celia realized with some satisfaction that he had no idea who she was. She decided to let him know they were on uneven ground. 

“Or should I say — what are you doing in my barn, Your Highness?”

She saw rather than heard his sigh of disappointment. Prince Sebastian Vael was a younger son, several steps away from the throne of Starkhaven, currently held by his eldest brother. According to Leandra, who had met him exactly once, Sebastian was a charming young man who spent little time at home, instead dancing attendance on Chantry sisters, attending events of cultural significance, and making diplomatic connections on behalf of Starkhaven all over the Free Marches. Her mother had phrased it more delicately, but Celia’s impression was that he was mostly a royal errand boy. According to Varric, every time the prince visited Kirkwall rumors flew of his visits to the seedier parts of town before sunrise, and Isabela said he was popular with her friends who danced professionally at The Rose. 

Celia had thought he sounded rather interesting, and that he might be fun to meet someday. But she’d never expected to find him here. No one visited her place without express permission. Especially now, with the detritus of Orsino’s pet project cluttering up her kitchen. 

The prince closed his eyes briefly before replying. “There was a gathering on the beach. It started out small, but things got out of hand.” 

A Wounded Coast beach party definitely qualified as seedy. People didn’t gather out here for the nice weather; they came because it’s where the drugs were. Judging by the mud on his clothes, Prince Sebastian had decided to make an early getaway by climbing up the bluffs. 

“That doesn’t explain why you’re in my barn, upsetting my animals,” she said.

That’s when she heard the siren. Not the semi-melodic up-down-up-down of a Kirkwall squad car, either — it sounded more like a high-pitched scream. 

She swore under her breath. “What did you do to piss off the Templars?” Without waiting for an answer, she moved to the door. Sure enough, red lights were bouncing wildly off the rocks as a pair of cars made their way up the road. It would be magical law enforcement, she thought bitterly. _Why couldn’t he be in trouble with a regular cop who would know I’m friends with the Captain and better off left alone?_ She rubbed a hand through her hair, trying to decide what to do.

“I believe some of the… guests… were mages. Perhaps they didn’t have permission to attend?” 

Celia snorted. Trust a prince to talk about a beach rave like it was a kid’s birthday party. 

“If you’re comfortable with horses, I suggest you get cozy with Dogmeat,” she said. “He’s kind of an asshole, but you’ll know pretty quickly whether he likes you or not. Watch the teeth.”

The prince blinked at her. 

“To hide? From the Templars, who I assume are looking for you?”

“Right,” he said vaguely.

She’d forgotten he was high. In an altered state of consciousness and in trouble with the Templars. _Why does this shit always happen to me?_ If the Templars searched her house, she and Orsino were going to be screwed. She should just hand the prince over to them. She should just… 

She sighed heavily. “If you aren’t up for hiding in Dogmeat’s stall you can try the hayloft, but if they insist on a search I promise that’s the first place they’ll look.”

* * *

Ser Bark stayed close to Celia’s heels as she walked to the gate. She’d left the barn light on; they’d have seen it from the road and might find it suspicious if she turned it off. Eventually the cars pulled up to the gate.

“Busy evening?” she asked as the first door opened. It was hard to see with the headlights in her face, but she thought she recognized Ser Karras stepping out of the driver’s side. 

“What are you doing here?” the Knight asked sourly. It was Karras all right. 

“I might ask the same of you. I own this land.” Things might be simpler if she could be polite, but when it came to Karras she couldn’t do it. If it had been Thrask, or even Knight-Captain Cullen, maybe… but Karras deserved to live out the rest of his sorry life in a deep dark hole, and Celia would not pretend otherwise. 

“So you’re just out for a walk in the middle of the night?” he sneered. “Any particular reason?”

Celia tried to remember to breathe. _Don’t antagonize him. They outnumber you._ “The dog was barking. I came out to make sure the spiders weren’t in the barn again.” 

“Spiders.” He gave a dark disbelieving chuckle that made the hairs rise on the back of her neck. Some people didn’t believe giant spiders were real, but that wasn’t the problem here. Karras was always looking for an excuse to cause trouble. 

Celia was not about to let him see that he made her nervous. “There was nothing there,” she said with exaggerated slowness. “I was about to go to back to bed when I heard the siren and thought I’d come out to see if I could help.” 

“Maybe we should have a look. Make sure there aren’t any missing _spiders_ so you can rest easy tonight.” 

Ser Bark growled and moved up to the gate. Karras took a half step back. He frowned, then snapped, “Paxley!”

The passenger side door swung open, and a young man with way too much mustache stepped reluctantly out. “Ser?”

“Search the barn, and walk the perimeter.”

“Ser?” Paxley said in a half whisper. “That’s Lady Amell’s daughter, isn’t it? If she says nothing is wrong, should we —” 

“Now, recruit!” snapped Karras. 

“Yes, Ser,” the young recruit said hastily. 

Reluctantly, Celia opened the gate, unwinding the chain and sliding it open just enough for Paxley to step through. He gave Ser Bark a nervous look, and then held his hand out to be sniffed. The dog snorted suspiciously but let him pass. 

“Bark, stay. Keep the nice Templars company,” said Celia. That should keep the rest of them out of her hair. She could manage one reluctant recruit. 

She led the way towards the barn. As they approached, Dogmeat began to kick up a fuss, tossing his head and pounding his hooves against the stall wall. _Atta boy._

“My stallion really doesn’t care for strangers,” she explained, doing her best to sound apologetic. She hoped that the prince wasn’t getting too badly trampled. 

The recruit nervously gave the horse a wide berth. He peeked into the hay loft, but the weak beam of his flashlight showed nothing out of order, and no mages hiding in dark corners. He shrugged at Celia as he climbed down the ladder, and she ushered him out of the building and back into the dark and wet. 

“What brings you all the way out here?” Celia asked casually, as she led him out to inspect the bushes at the edge of the property. 

“Officially? Mages away without leave,” said Paxley. He trailed the beam of his light halfheartedly under the brush and along the fence, casting spindly shadows along the ground that swirled as the branches twisted in the wind. 

Celia decided he was mostly stalling so he didn’t get scolded for shirking. Her hair was starting to get damp from the fog, and she pulled up the hood of her sweatshirt. “You make it sound like there’s an unofficial reason,” she said with a sympathetic smile. “Not a great night for an imaginary mage hunt, in this weather.”

“The mages aren’t imaginary,” he said quickly. “It’s just, Karras said — well, it’s none of my business. I’m just a recruit, I go where I’m told.” 

“Yeah, I get it. Did you want to look at the cliff face?” It would be easier if he didn’t notice the path that came over the ridge a few hundred yards beyond those bushes. 

“I guess.” He followed her along the fence line. “It is kind of weird though, we’re not supposed to get involved in anything that isn’t related to the Chantry. So I guess it must be, in some way I don’t understand.” 

Celia made a noncommittal noise. “Here we are. You can see how hard it would be for someone to get up this way — it’s almost a sheer drop. And if they did, I would have noticed — those are my front windows there.” She pointed. The front of the house was almost all glass, with a fenced porch in front. Light filtered through from the kitchen, but the house was mostly dark. 

“I see,” said Paxley. “I’ll walk up the other side of the property, but I think we don’t need to bother you anymore, Miss. Sorry for the trouble.”

“Oh, it’s no trouble,” she said, with an artificial sweetness that probably went straight over his head. She trailed along behind him as he finished his sweep, and stood with her hand on Ser Bark’s collar until the Templars had all gotten back in their cars and driven out of sight. 

* * *

“That was invigorating,” said Sebastian, as he followed Celia around the house and through the front door. “I was sure that beast of yours was going to bash my head in.”

“He has a good eye for character,” she said, flicking on the overhead light. “If he kicked you, I’m sure you deserved it.” 

His laugh surprised her. It was a nice sound, warm and open, and his eyes crinkled at the corners when he smiled.

“I suppose I might have tried to kick me too,” he admitted. 

Celia smiled in spite of herself. She set her flashlight on the table and kicked off her muddy shoes. She peeled out of her damp sweatshirt and was hanging it on a hook behind the door, when it struck her that she’d just invited a strange man into her house and then immediately stripped half her clothes off. Her tank top seemed entirely inadequate for company, so she grabbed the first thing she could find — an old wool cardigan from the back of her desk chair — and pulled it on, wrapping it protectively around herself.

When she turned, Sebastian was down on one knee, making friends with the dog. He allowed Ser Bark to sniff his hands and arms, walk in a circle around him, and stick his nose right up in his face without a complaint or flinch. Whatever Bark found in Sebastian’s scent seemed to satisfy him, and he finished by licking the prince’s ear. Sebastian grunted in surprise, but gave the dog a good natured head rub before wiping away the slobber with the back of his hand. 

Ser Bark then made his usual nightly inspection, walking under the desk, behind the shabby pink sofa, nosing open the doorway opposite, and sniffing the floor under the windows. Duty done, he flopped down on his bed and looked back at the humans as if to ask “now what?” 

“Beautiful dog,” said Sebastian, rising to his feet. “You don’t see many purebred mabari these days.” 

“He was a rescue,” said Celia, swallowing her embarrassment. He either hadn’t even noticed her clothing mishap, or was too polite to mention it. “Welcome to the Hawke Estate. Bedroom to the left, kitchen in the back. Not much else to see, though the view is quite nice in the daytime.” 

“It’s… cozy,” he said politely.

She snorted. “It’s a dump. I’m Celia. Want a drink?”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Celia,” he said with a hint of a smile. “I’d love one.” 

While Sebastian cleaned himself up, Celia struggled to find two matching glasses in her upper cabinets. By the time she’d found them, he was drying his hands and eyeing the apparatus on the kitchen table. 

“I haven’t seen one of these in some time.” 

“You do a lot of brewing, then?” she said, raising an eyebrow. 

“We had a chemistry set that… I’m sorry, did you say you were brewing potions? Don’t you need magic for that?” 

“It depends on the potion,” she said, pulling down a bottle of whisky. Her house might be shabby, but this bottle had been a gift from Varric. Even a prince could drink it without embarrassment. “Lyrium drafts can’t be brewed by mages,” she offered. “Too toxic. It’s all done in dwarven or Tranquil facilities. Elfroot potion is basically tea, and anyone can make it.” She set down the bottle and hopped off the counter. “But if you’re asking if I’m a mage, the answer is yes.” She pushed up her sleeve to show the sunburst tattoo on the inside of her right wrist. 

“Shouldn’t you be living in a Circle, then?” he asked. 

Celia scowled. “Not all of the Free Marches is still living in the Dragon Age. I have a sponsor; I have the tat which proves I passed my Harrowing.” Technically she hadn’t had one, but Orsino had pushed it through as ‘equivalent life experience.’ “As long as I remain a productive member of society, I’m allowed to live on my own.” 

In truth, Celia was pretty sure Orsino only cared about two things: his research and the power he derived from being First Enchanter of Kirkwall. As long as she did the favors he asked and didn’t publicly embarrass him, he didn’t give a shit what she did. He’d used his influence to get her not-quite-legal emancipation paperwork signed, and in exchange she gave him free off-site research assistance for projects of questionable legality. Everyone was happy. 

But she wasn’t about to explain any of that to a Prince of Starkhaven. Everyone knew how conservative things were there. She handed him a glass of whisky.

“I apologize if I’ve inconvenienced you by being here to help instead of imprisoned in a sanctioned Circle University.”

“I meant no offense,” he said, taking a sip of his drink. “I was only surprised. Is this Fereldan? It’s quite good.”

Celia drew a breath to continue her argument, then thought the better of it. She didn’t particularly want the conversation to come around to what she did for a living. 

“Now that I think about it, I’m not sure you should be drinking. What did you take?” 

“I’m sorry?” His confused innocence was nearly convincing, but she knew the signs.

“You came from Shipwreck Beach, and you were twitchy as a jackrabbit earlier. No judgment, I just want to know in case there’s a problem.”

He pressed his lips together, then shrugged. “Only Dawntouch. And at any rate,” his gaze turned inward as he made an assessment, “it’s mostly over.” 

“Okay,” she said, moving back toward the living room. He followed. “So, is there someone you need to contact?” 

He looked so unhappy about the idea that she almost felt bad for asking. “Look, I don’t care. You’re welcome to crash here if you aren’t afraid of the couch.” 

“Why, will it kick me?” The joke seemed like a reflex; his mind was clearly elsewhere. He eased himself into the sagging cushions of the questionable sofa, slouching and stretching his long legs out in front of him. He poured the rest of the whisky down his throat in one long swallow. He set the empty glass down beside him and looked out the window; whether he saw the darkness or his reflection or something else entirely, she couldn’t tell. He looked older than she’d first thought, with faint lines around his eyes. Still, he was handsome — less polished than his photos, but more to her taste because of it. 

She curled up on the opposite end of the couch with her bare feet beneath her. 

“If you call, you have to go back. Is that it?”

“Almost certainly.” 

“And you’d rather not. I get that.” 

He continued to stare at the window. After a moment of silence, she tried again. 

“There was a second car, with the Templars. No one got out. Your handlers? Or paparazzi?”

“Something like that.” He sighed again. “Look, you’ve been very helpful. I’m sorry to be rude, but I would rather not talk about it.” 

“All right.” Celia fidgeted with her glass and took a sip. If he wasn’t going to take her up on conversation, there wasn’t much she could do. Maybe she should just go to bed. 

After another moment of silence, Sebastian fumbled in his pocket and pulled out a small baggie. 

“Hey,” said Celia. “Please don’t do that in my house.” 

He raised an eyebrow. “Says the brewer of potions.” 

“What if I’m making health drafts?” 

He gave her a crooked smile. “Are you making health drafts?” 

“I do sometimes! Not at the moment, though.” She smiled back. “But these aren’t for me. I’m doing some work for my sponsor.” Involuntarily she thought about Sebastian’s supposed popularity at The Rose, and her lips twitched. “From what I’ve heard it might be up your alley, actually. But I told O— I told him I was absolutely not going to do any testing. He’s the one trying to re-create kinky Antivan hedge magic, not me. And I absolutely should not have said that out loud.” She stood up. “I’m going to get you a blanket. And a pillow if I can find one. Put the baggie away, or I’ll stick it under Ser Bark’s bed with the drool-covered squeaky toys and ancient torn trousers and you’ll never get it back.”

He carefully wrapped the baggie into a small square and tucked it back into his pocket, then held up his empty hands. “All gone.” He folded his arms behind his head and leaned back. “I can’t wait to hear about this kinky sex magic you want me to try.” 

She grabbed a blanket out of the cupboard and tossed it at him. “Go to sleep, Your Highness.” 


	2. Chapter 2

Celia woke just before dawn, with Ser Bark’s nose on her cheek. 

“Stop it,” she grunted, rolling away. The other side of the bed was cold, and she opened her eyes reluctantly. Bark poked her again, and when she glared he just wagged his tail briefly and sat, looking at the door. 

She sat up, blearily. “What is it?” Only then did she remember her visitor from last night. He must be awake. Or gone, though she thought Bark would have made a fuss if he’d left, instead of giving her the cold nose treatment.

“Daft dog,” she mumbled, rubbing his scruff before sliding out of bed. She rummaged around on the floor and came up with a ratty flannel shirt that used to be Carver’s. All her comfortable clothes had long since migrated here, away from her mother’s fashion-conscious fingers. She pulled it on and opened the bedroom door. 

Sebastian was out on the deck, watching the waves in the grey-blue pre-dawn light, a blanket wrapped around his shoulders for warmth. She slid open the screen behind him, and he turned.

“I wouldn’t have taken you for an early riser.” 

“I don’t sleep much, lately.” 

“Hangover?”

“No. As a matter of fact,” he said, letting his eyes linger over her tousled hair and mostly-bare legs, “I’ve been up half the night contemplating Antivan sex magic.” 

It was an obvious attempt to change the subject, but still Celia felt her heart stutter.

“If I thought I could guess your laptop password,” he continued, “I’d have been looking it up by now.”

“Don’t you have a phone? Mess up your own search history, thanks.”

His smile faded. “I’m afraid I ‘accidentally’ left it behind yesterday.” 

“I see.” 

“But if you’re not familiar with Incognito mode, you should look into it. It’s a must-have when your family spies on you.” 

Celia didn’t think she was imagining the bitterness in his voice. For all technology was praised for making life easier… sometimes it did the opposite.

“Luckily for me,” she said, “my mother is staunchly anti-internet. She prefers to fill her mind with false information via television news programs, the way the Maker intended.”

That made him chuckle, and she smiled. Then she wondered when she’d become so invested in cheering him up. Out loud, she asked, “Coffee?”

“And here I thought you couldn’t be any more charming. Yes please, coffee.” 

* * *

As Celia put the pot on to brew, she remembered her phone was still on the kitchen charger. She unlocked it to find a stack of unread texts from Varric. 

11:42pm   
VT: I think Dogmeat is more likely to eat the spiders than the other way around. 

1:02am  
VT: So, what was the body count? Was it spiders? 

1:39am  
VT: Hawke? You alright?

1:56am  
VT: The only reason we’re not coming now is that you have Bark with you. Also none of us are sober enough to drive. 

2:12am  
VT: Seriously Hawke, don’t make me have to tell your mother you were killed by giant spiders. It’s a great story, but I hate to make an old lady cry.   
VT: Or an old dwarf.   
VT: Dammit Hawke.

2:41am  
VT: If I haven’t heard from you by 7am I am bringing the cavalry.

It was just after six o’clock. Celia wrote back:

CH: Bark’s discovery last night was very interesting. Not spiders. Also had a visit from Templars, but they fucked off eventually.  
CH: Probably not back in town as early as I expected today. Will keep you posted.  
CH: For real this time.

Her phone buzzed in response just as the coffee maker beeped to announce the brewing was complete. Varric must have been actually worried, if he’d left his ringer on. 

VT: Maker’s tits Hawke, you can’t text that there’s a weird noise outside and then forget to check your phone for the rest of the night! Stop trying to give me heart failure.  
VT: But thanks for not making me wake Aveline to tell her we left you on your own to get eaten. She’s still mad at me about the whole “Don’t” thing.  
VT: Plus I’m not sure where Isabela is anyway.  
VT: What’s keeping you out there? Potion problems?

CH: Actually, royalty problems. You won’t believe me when I tell you. 

She turned the ringer off, slid the phone in her pocket, and took Sebastian his coffee. 

* * *

Celia left Ser Bark to look after her guest while she slipped into some proper pants and went out to feed Dogmeat. She generally paid one of the locals to feed and exercise him, but mostly texted them to take the day off when she was home. Solitude was one of the primary benefits of staying out here; especially when she had work to do. Potion brewing was touchy — it needed precise timing and her full attention. She had several things she needed to make this weekend, once she was done with Orsino’s project. 

As she walked back to the house, she paused to admire the view. The sun was rising, and the horizon glowed with streaks of tangerine and pink between the deep gray of the ocean and a gathering of dark clouds overhead. The light was reflected in her windows along the deck, and Sebastian stood on the balcony, bathed in a golden glow. The long fingers of one hand were wrapped around his coffee cup for warmth, while the other held the deep blue blanket over his shoulders, where it billowed like a cloak. He looked disconcertingly like the cover illustration for one of Varric’s romance novels — the ones she refused to admit she’d read. After all, she was too old for fairy tales. 

All the same, her heart sped up and a flush warmed her cheeks. There was a prince on her porch, and in a satisfying twist, she had come to _his_ rescue. She wondered if it was fate. _Don’t be stupid, there’s no such thing. Sunrise can make anything seem romantic,_ she told herself. She had let a royal frat boy crash on her couch, that was all. He might be brooding and velvet-voiced and exactly her type, but that was all the more reason that she should get rid of him as soon as possible. She’d already learned that ‘exactly her type’ was nothing but trouble. She pushed her shoulders back, lifted her chin, and kept walking. 

“There you are,” he said as she climbed the steps. Maybe being left alone with Ser Bark made him nervous. “Thank you again for the hospitality. You were right, the view is incredible. Almost enough to make you forget the day ahead, isn’t it?” 

His smile was so genuine that she found herself smiling back. Then she caught herself. “It’s really adding to the whole brooding stoner prince… thing you have going on,” she said, waving a hand to encompass blanket-cape and scenery. 

For a moment he looked startled. Celia found herself wanting to take it back — she’d meant to be a bit rude, but she hadn’t thought it might actually hurt his feelings. She tried to soften it. “You must pull more than you can handle with that kind of aesthetic.” 

His expression shifted to something speculative. He cocked a hip and leaned against the railing. “Why? Is it working on you?” 

She scowled. “More than I’d like it to.” 

He threw back his head and laughed. “You are a fascinating woman, Celia Hawke. Do you always insult people when you find them attractive?” 

“Occasionally,” she admitted. 

“I like your honesty. Let me make it up to you by cooking you breakfast.”

When he smiled like that, she felt like the only person in the world. She wasn’t. Obviously. He was just too charismatic for his own good. But who was she to turn down an offer of breakfast? After all, she had all day to get her brewing done. 

* * *

To her surprise, Sebastian could cook. He pulled together a delicious Orlesian toast out of her nearly-empty pantry, and tidied the kitchen as he went instead of leaving a mess. 

Celia blamed everything that followed on that meal. Her own cooking barely registered as edible; to have a delicious breakfast served with charm by a someone who seemed genuinely interested in her work… it was more than she could resist.

  


When the meal was done, Celia excused herself to shower. After turning on the water, she dug a small phone out of the bottom of her sock drawer and dialed. 

It rang several times before Orsino answered. “This is not a convenient time. I hope it’s important.” His voice was quiet and clipped.

“Sorry, First Enchanter. But I think I’ve found a tester.”

“Have you?” His tone shifted quickly from annoyed to pleased. “Non-mage, I assume. Blind or open?”

“Open.”

“I see.” He sounded disappointed. “Interesting characteristics?”

“Human male, late 20s or 30 maybe? Non-mage, like you said. Recreational drug user. Excited by the prospect.”

Orsino chuckled. “I bet he is. I’m pleased you decided to get more involved.”

“This is a one-off,” she said firmly. “The situation fell into my lap. Don’t expect a repeat.” 

“Take notes,” was his reply. “Don’t send them, but take them. It sounds like a good addition to our data pool. Oh, and this is the perfect opportunity for immediate synthesis — can you manage that?”

“I kind of have to; I don’t have anything prepped.” 

“Definitely do that, then.” There was a small pause. “If you need help with extraction, let me know.” 

“Wait. Extraction? Is that what I think it is? Is this a normal problem?”

“Of course not,” he said reassuringly. “It’s just a precaution for an uncontrolled environment. You’ll have support if you need it, that’s all. And Hawke? Remember to have fun.” 

Feeling slightly panicky, she buried the phone back in her sock drawer and stepped into the shower. 

* * *

“I still don’t believe I let you talk me into this,” she said, carefully stirring a clear yellow potion over a flickering magical flame. The immediate synthesis method involved combining the three stable solutions together just before consumption. Orsino had theorized that the fresher a potion was, the more potent it might be, but so far this had been difficult to confirm. One could hardly carry around a potion brewing rig in one’s pocket, after all. Two of the parts made up the substance they were actually testing; the third was a solution of a commercially available erectile disfunction drug in a mild saline-lyrium base. Orsino said the ED was a catalyst that he would eventually phase out, but Celia wondered if he hadn’t included it mostly to attract testers. Why else would anyone ever volunteer to fall in love? 

“It must be my innate personal charm,” replied Sebastian, leaning over her shoulder to watch her work. “Or — what was it? — the ‘brooding stoner aesthetic’ that you find so attractive?” 

Her cheeks grew warm. “If you make me mess this up, you might end up with a whole new aesthetic,” she warned. “Maybe neither of us will like it.”

“Understood,” he said, stepping back to give her more room. “But you have to be curious. Haven’t you ever been tempted to try out your handiwork? How often does academic research lead to anything fun?” 

“It’s still very experimental,” she pointed out. “You heard me when I said it was a full-spectrum aphrodisiac? Emotions and all?”

“Do you really believe it? Is it possible for magic to influence real emotions?” Genuine interest lit up his face; he looked very little like the restless trespasser who had been hiding in her barn last night. Curiosity animated him; his eyes were bright, and his long-fingered hands gestured to punctuate his thoughts. 

“I don’t know.” Suddenly she was unwilling to talk him out of it. “I’m pretty sure all the test subjects so far have been the developer’s students. Which, first of all, yikes? But second, I’m not sure he gets reliable results. Would you tell your professor that his pet project didn’t work, if he controlled your ability to graduate?” 

Sebastian frowned in distaste. “And you work for this person?” 

“I think his heart is in the right place. He sponsors more emancipated mages than — anyway, he’s working with limited resources.” She shrugged. “I certainly won’t lie about the results, regardless. It’s my work too.” 

“Then it’s only appropriate that we test it, purely on principle. Besides, this is fascinating. I’ve never seen potions being made before. Does the flame have to be magical?” 

“Yeah. They used to think magical flame just had a very consistent temperature, but it turns out that no matter how precise the instrument, mundane means don’t work for most brewing. Now they say it’s ‘sympathetic resonance,’ but don’t ask me to explain. It involves a lot of math. Would you get a glass from the cupboard and put an ice cube in it? There’s a tray in the freezer.” 

While he was busy with that, she pulled a small hair from her head and added it to the solution, just before mixing in the second component. She wrapped one hand around the flask — it was hot enough to burn her palm — and gave a small push of electrical energy into it, as Orsino had taught her. There was a small flash. Quickly, she went back to stirring. 

“Dissolve, dissolve,” she chanted under her breath. This was the part that skated a little too close to blood magic for comfort. It wasn’t really; no demons, no fluids. All the same, she was anxious that Sebastian not notice the flakes of charred hair before they melted away.

She didn’t want to focus on anyone drinking a fluid that could melt hair, either. Potions in general were pretty gross if you thought too much about them. 

“Is that some sort of magical incantation?” Sebastian asked, coming up to peer over her shoulder again. 

“More like a prayer. I hope this is working. I make all the components but I’ve never done the final synthesis on my own.” She let the flame die out, and the mixture shifted color, from pale yellow to deep orange. Opening the last jar, she measured very carefully before pouring in the last ingredient. The liquid immediately became cloudy. “I’ve got to stir for at least two minutes,” she said, her eyes flicking up to the clock on the wall. “The ice in the cup is for you, so you don’t burn your tongue.” Still stirring, she caught his eye. “You’re really going to do this?” 

“Of course I am. I like new experiences.” He winked. 

The only appropriate response to this was to roll her eyes, so she did. 

Now that the brewing itself was done, her nerves were coming back. This is such a stupid idea. When had being impulsive like this ever paid off? With her luck, he’d end up allergic or something, and she’d have to rush him to the hospital half naked. 

“You don’t find this awkward?” she asked, focusing her gaze on the potion. 

“Not particularly.” He leaned forward, his arms against the back of a chair. “It’s far more interesting than picking someone up in a bar, don’t you think?”

“I wouldn’t know; that’s not really my… thing. And I’ve certainly never had pre-arranged… science sex before.” She turned her eyes back to the clock. “Before I forget — there’s paper on the table and I think a pen in the drawer over there. Can you write down that you consent to the experiment, and sign it? I don’t plan to use it or even let my sponsor see it, but I’ve gotta cover my ass somehow. No offense.” 

“None taken,” he said, writing quickly and signing with a flourish. 

“Also…” she started, looking anywhere but at his face, “you don’t need to write it down or anything but… do you want to set any parameters? Before you take the thing?” 

“I’m willing to go with the flow.” 

He sounded like he meant it, and her stomach did a queasy flip. “Seriously? No limitations? You’re not going to say… I don’t know, no pegging? No scat? No binding marriage proposals?”

He laughed. “I love a woman with confidence. Very well, I accept that list. I assume it applies in both directions?”

She flushed. “Yes. Definitely.”

When the two minutes were up, she poured the cloudy liquid over the ice. It looked a bit like that morning’s sunrise in a glass. 

“It should take thirty to forty minutes to kick in,” she said. “So if you want to — I don’t know, hydrate or whatever…”

“ _Slàinte_ ,” said Sebastian, raising the glass and downing the contents in a single gulp. 


	3. Chapter 3

“It tastes terrible,” said Sebastian, setting down the glass. “Bitter.” 

“I’m not surprised,” said Celia. 

“Now what?” he asked.

“Now we wait. I have to clean up. No, I don’t need any help, just — I need to handle this stuff myself.” She gathered up an armload of glassware from her brewing rig and headed for the sink.

  


After washing every component from the brewing, the last of the breakfast dishes, and some stray glassware, Celia dried it all and put it away. She made a quick sweep of the house, but there wasn’t much to do except make her bed, toss a few clothes in the laundry basket, and fold Sebastian’s blanket and lay it over the back of the couch. Sebastian stood out on the deck, leaning on the railing, watching her through the windows. When she couldn’t think of any other way to stall, she took a deep breath, rolled her shoulders, and stepped outside. 

“You seem nervous,” he said. 

“I am nervous! I just drugged a member of the Starkhaven royal family.” 

His smile was more than a little amused. “I did volunteer.”

“Somehow I doubt that would stand up in a court of law,” she said dryly. She could see the headlines now. _Assassination attempt on Starkhaven Prince — ‘It was an accident, I just wanted him to sleep with me’ says murderer!_

She knew was being over-dramatic, even as her heart raced. _Orsino tested this_ , she reminded herself. It wasn’t going to kill anyone. And if she were being really honest with herself, that was only the smallest part of her concern.

“I don’t really do this sort of thing,” she said, looking out at the ocean. “The last time I had casual sex things got really awkward. I mean, not the sex part, that was great, but he has really complicated feeling about mages that… well, no, his feelings aren’t complicated, more like strongly negative. It was a huge mistake. Now every time we see each other… Not that I’ll have to worry about that here. I mean, I doubt you’ll make a habit of showing up in my barn. No complaints if you did, you’ve been a nice houseguest so far, but I don’t imagine its the sort of thing you generally get up to.” 

“Hey,” he said gently, touching her arm. “Slow down. We don’t have to do this.” 

Celia gave him an incredulous look. “You drank the thing! It’s a bit late to take it back now.” 

“So? It doesn’t have to involve you, if you’re having second thoughts.” 

“But science!” Her laugh was slightly squeaky. 

“The science doesn’t matter. Or if it matters to your sponsor, I can call you and tell you how it went.” He leaned back, his eyes gleaming wickedly. “In excruciating detail, if that’s what floats your boat.” 

The way he drew out the word “excruciating” gave her butterflies. She’d always been too susceptible to a nice voice.

“It might. Over the phone would be nice. I think the accent would help the science.” 

“Definitely.” 

She smiled and bit her lip. “No, I’m in. I just… I do a lot of impulsive things. It’s only nerve-wracking when I have too much time to think between the impulse and the consequence.” “I have some experience with that,” he said. 

“I’m glad you get it. Like… this whole project is just a disaster waiting to happen, right? My sponsor pushed through my paperwork against the Knight Commander’s wishes. If I mess up his pet research, what happens? Does he rescind my papers? Do the Templars come to arrest me? I’ve never lived in a Circle; I don’t think I could start now.” 

His hand found her back and rubbed soothing circles between her shoulder blades. “Celia, no one is coming to take you away because of what happens here today. You have my word.” 

She took a shuddering breath and leaned her head against his shoulder. “Thanks.”

“I’d never imperil your freedom. Even if I am jealous of it.” He squeezed her arm, then ran his hand down her back, letting it come to rest against her waist. “I’d love to wake up to this every morning.” 

They both looked out over the ocean for a moment, watching the curl of the dark clouds overhead, and listening to the waves rumble as they crashed into the rocks below. 

“Besides,” he said, brushing his lips against the top of her head, “you’re far too beautiful to hide away.” He reached out to run a finger down her cheek and along her jawline, drawing her face towards his. “You know,” he breathed, eyes on her lips, “I think I’m starting to feel something.” 

Her heart pounded. He had been very kind, these last few minutes. Was it genuine, or was the potion starting to work? 

“Are you sure?” she asked. “It’s supposed to take a bit longer. Could it be, you know, psychosomatic? You know you’ve taken something, so you’re anticipating a response?”

“It’s possible. But this is different than what I’ve experienced before.” He slid both arms around her waist, lowering his head to brush her cheek with his lips. “Sometimes you pop a pill and it’s just… boom.” His breath tickled her ear, his voice low and full of promise. One of his thumbs slipped up under her shirt and brushed the skin above her hip. “It can come on hard, and fast, and out of control.” 

His voice sent a tingle down her spine, making her feel jangly and fidgety and too large for her skin. She laughed breathlessly. “Maker. How many times have you done sex enhancement drugs?”

He hummed in her ear. “A few. But it’s never felt like this. I _like_ this. I want to touch you everywhere. I want to taste you. But I want to take my time, to explore. I’m going to peel you out of your clothes one piece at a time. I’m going to tease you until you’re dripping, until you beg.” 

“So,” she swallowed, “so you’d say it’s quantifiably diff—”

“Shhhh,” he said, and kissed her. It was slow, almost tender, one hand coming up to thread through her hair, the other splaying across her back to pull her closer. They kissed until his arms and lips and tongue were all she could feel. 

  


_Fucking fuck, it works. Orsino’s hedge-magic love potion actually works_ , she thought, with the tiny part of her brain that could still function. _Please Maker, let it wear off like it’s supposed to._

* * *

Sebastian kissed with his whole attention, one arm holding her close, the other drifting from her cheek to her shoulder, sliding down her side and slowly back up to cup the back of her head. His lips explored too, from the corner of her mouth to the shell of her ear, gentle but intent, as if he wanted to make a map of every bit of her by touch alone. 

When the commercial ED kicked in, all that changed. He bit down on the sensitive skin below her ear that he’d been mouthing a moment before. His hands moved to grip her hips hard enough to bruise. He shifted closer, pulling her in tight, and if she’d been able to feel him growing hard before, his cock was like iron now. He moved one hand to grip her ass, holding her firmly in place as he ground his hips. 

Celia rode the movement, whimpering under her breath. The slow burn that had been building in her core swelled until it ached. 

But… 

“Hold on a sec,” she gasped. When that didn’t seem to penetrate, she pushed back. 

It took a moment for him to let go. His chest rose and fell with each heavy breath, and his lips were red and swollen. She wanted to bite them, to slide back into his arms, to rut against his thigh. 

Instead she took a step back and looked away, out over the ocean. 

He rubbed the back of his hand across his mouth and asked hoarsely, “What is it?”

She took a deep breath. “For one thing, it’s raining.” 

The dark clouds had reached them and were swirling overhead. Only a few drops darkened the sun-bleached deck so far, but out over the water it was coming down in sheets. 

“For another, I have to… science? For just a minute.” 

“Oh right,” he said, blinking. “Of course.”

  


She led the way inside, crossing quickly to her desk and leaning down to log into her laptop. The forms she needed were on a USB in her bedroom, but forget that. He shouldn’t see them anyway. She’d just make some notes, quickly jot down the times and then… 

“I can’t type if you’re doing that,” she said over her shoulder. Sebastian hovered close behind her, his hand stroking the curve of her behind, his eyes dark and speculative. “Go… go stand somewhere I can see you. This will only take a second, but I have to do it now or I’ll forget.” 

His smile was predatory as he walked around to lean on the edge of her desk in front of her. As she watched, he palmed his erection, giving himself a stroke as he adjusted his position in pants that appeared far too tight. 

“Your mouth is open,” he said.

She forced her eyes back to the screen. Open a new document… synthesis, time administered, first signs… the pace shift, had it been two minutes ago? One? More? _Fuckit put one, save document, close it, let’s get on with things._

  


She slammed the laptop closed and stood, pushing him back until he bumped against the broad arm of the couch, nudging him to sit so that she didn’t have to reach up for him. She stepped up between his thighs, fisted her hand in his hair and tugged, just a bit, to angle his head before kissing him. 

He tugged at her bottom lip with his teeth, and his hands slid down to her waistband. She felt the button of her jeans pop, then the slow drag of her zipper, moaning into his mouth as he slid his fingers inside her pants, rubbing against the soaked cotton of her underwear. 

“Fuck,” he said, yanking her pants further down her thighs. “I wondered how much of this was drugs and how much was chemistry. You are drenched.” 

“It’s just…” She hissed as his fingers pushed beneath her underwear to circle her clit. “Just you.”

“Exactly,” he said, kissing her fiercely, before lifting her to reverse their positions. He sank down to his knees before her, pulling her underwear down. She tried to help, kicking her legs free of her pants so he could sweep them out of the way, letting her weight fall back on her arms as he lifted one of her knees over her shoulder. 

She shivered and he paused. “This okay?”

“Okay,” she nodded. “I just got… self-conscious.”

“Light of the Maker, you have nothing to be self-conscious about.” He kissed his way up her thigh, and then between them, his tongue slipping between her folds and his hands tightening on her thighs. “You taste amazing. You feel amazing.” His words vibrated against her skin. 

Tension lingered for a moment — oral sex always felt awkward with someone new — but she closed her eyes and tried to let go. As he slipped two fingers inside her, he moaned at how hot and wet she was. She suddenly thought that this man, this beautiful stranger who she’d let into her home and drugged into sex, was the son of the ruling prince of Starkhaven. He had servants, he probably had women hanging off his cock whenever he wanted, but he was here, in her shitty mountain shack, with his mouth on her making noises like there was nowhere he’d rather be right now. 

His fingers circled and pressed, just as his tongue swept firmly across her clit, and she came. 

* * *

As soon as she regained control over her shaking limbs, Celia dragged Sebastian to his feet. “You need to fuck me. Now.”

He groaned. “I thought you’d never ask.” 

They got in each other’s way at first, each trying to undress the other. He pulled off her shirt while she was still struggling with the buttons on his pants. He pushed her hands aside with a smug smile. 

“Need a little help?” 

“Shut up. I’m almost naked and you’re still wearing _everything._ ” 

“Well, we can’t allow that kind of inequality, I agree,” he said, shucking his pants down his legs. She took a step back to admire the view. He wasn’t bulky, but had the streamlined, muscled physique of a swimmer. He probably spent far too much time at the gym. On the other hand, she wasn’t going to complain, especially not as he lifted her into his arms. She wrapped her legs around his waist. 

“Bedroom?” 

“That way.” 

Halfway there he swore under his breath. “One minute.” He set her down and fumbled about on the floor for his wallet. Flipping it open, he pulled out a condom. “Sorry, I need to…” 

“Don’t apologize. I have some too.” She scampered ahead to the bedroom and opened the drawer of her bedside table. Shoving aside discarded jewelry and a packet of tissues she found the box of condoms, pushed to the very back. She pulled it out and turned the box over, looking… there. Not even expired yet. It really was turning out to be her lucky day. She dropped the box on the table and crawled onto the bed. 

Behind her, Sebastian had stripped off his shirt and was already rolling the latex over his cock. It was nicely shaped, long and lean like the rest of him. 

He followed her onto the bed, a predatory gleam in his eye. “Ready?” he asked. 

“More than ready.” 

He took his cock in hand, rubbed it against the wetness of her entrance. She hummed encouragement, curling her hips, and he entered her slowly, sinking a bit at a time, his arms rigid. 

Celia licked her lips and reached up to curl her hand around his neck. “I’m not breakable, you know.” 

Sebastian laughed breathlessly. “I’m happy to test that. I… I’m close and I don’t want…” he panted as she shifted under him, “to lose control. Not yet.”

She wrapped her legs around his hips and tried to pull him closer. “What if I want you to?” 

He groaned, and thrust forward, once, twice, burying himself completely in her before regaining control. She quivered around him, stretched to the full and shaking. He shifted, reaching a hand down to brush his thumb over her clit, and she gasped. 

“I want you to…” he said in a rough voice. “Please, come for me first. Please, Celia.”

With her name on his lips in that voice, she might have gone over without further touch. But then he began to thrust in earnest, and over the cliff she went, falling, flying. He was right behind her, his thrusts going irregular until his entire body clenched and he throbbed inside her. 

  


“It’s not usually so…” 

“I know,” she said. “It’s the potion.” 

He gave an embarrassed-sounding laugh and rolled off her, slipping off the condom and tying it into a neat knot before tossing it in the trash. 

  


Celia’s bed was placed beneath a large picture window. It was a great place to watch a storm, even when the rain blurred the view of the ocean beyond. She stretched and shifted onto her stomach to look out. 

“Come back to bed,” she said, “It’s cold.” 

He came and settled in beside her, pulling the blanket up over their backs. For a few minutes they were silent, watching the rain. He put an arm around her back, sliding gently along her flank. 

“I love being here when it rains,” she said. “Feels like the entire world is miles away.” 

He hummed in agreement and kissed the skin behind her ear. His arm came around her, his hand skimming her side to come up over her breast. He cupped it gently and ran a thumb over her nipple, which puckered under his touch. As she moved in reaction, his fingers brushed against the pendant she wore. He leaned over and pulled it up into the light. 

“What is this?” 

“Drakestone. Not pure enough to be alchemically useful. I just like the color.” 

The stone was striated with red and yellow, like flame in solid form. She’d found it in Lothering, picked it up out of the dirt on a whim. But it was all she had left of the old farm now. 

“Beautiful.” He fingered the raw edges. “Doesn’t it poke you?”

“Yeah, sometimes,” she said, twisting the clasp and pulling it off her neck. He let go, and she dropped it on her bedside table, the chain pooling around the stone. 

Then she rolled over onto her back. “Now, where were we?” 

He returned his attention to her breasts, cupping them firmly and brushing them with open-mouthed kisses. His tongue was hot in the cold air of the room. He shifted closer, and his cock brushed against her thigh. 

“Do you think you might want to try again?” he asked. “For science.” 

“Oh, for science I think I might,” she said, reaching for the box of condoms. 

* * *

“Hungry?” 

“Ravenous.” 

“Pizza?” 

“You’ll never find a place to deliver out here.”

“Just one. A friend of mine. She owes me.” 

“Then we had better draw the curtains, hmm?” 

  


When the knock came, Celia pulled herself out of his arms and struggled into her bathrobe. Lyrine was at the door. She always did this delivery in person. 

“Heck of a day to make me drive all the way out here, Hawke. You can hardly see the road with all this rain,” she said, moving as if to step inside. Celia slapped her arm across the threshold. 

“Scandalous booty call in progress. Do not enter.” 

She curled her lip. “Uh huh. Fine, here.” She thrust the box into Celia’s hands. The smell of cheese and peppers wafted up. Ferelden Imports Pizza might not be the best in Kirkwall, but it was pretty good. It reminded Celia of when she was a kid, and pizza nights were an extravagance. 

Lyrine shifted her weight. “I was hoping…”

“Yup.” Celia shifted the pizza to grab the bottle she’d set on the table beside the door and pressed it into her hand. “How’s she doing?”

Lyrine gave a halfhearted shrug. “Not great.” 

Celia nodded. “I’m working on something for my sponsor right now, but as soon as the still is free, I’ll make another batch. Ok?”

“Thanks. Enjoy your ‘booty call.’”

“I will,” said Celia, closing the door. As she did, she shook her head. She’d never understand why her best lies were always 95% truth. 

* * *

8:15am   
VT: What do you mean, royalty problems? 

11:27am  
VT: Shit, Hawke. I hope you don’t mean what I think you mean.   
VT: Because there’s a certain royal personage here in Kirkwall who apparently hasn’t been seen since the ribbon-cutting on the new Chantry alcove yesterday.

11:48am  
VT: It’s him, isn’t it. You found him on the beach and now you’re what? Hanging out? Trading tips and tricks for dealing with nobility? Because I can’t really think of anything else you have in common. 

12:39pm  
VT: Hawke, be careful. There are some rumors, and I really think you’re better off not getting involved. 

2:11pm  
VT: This is ridiculous even for you, Hawke. Shit.

3:48pm  
CH: Maker’s hairy balls, you have no idea  
CH: it goes without saying but TELL NO ONE   
CH: If this touches your column you are a dead dwarf  
CH: He found out about the THING and he asked to try it and ummmm  
CH: I should seduce royalty more often  
CH: No I shouldn’t this is risky and stupid but Maker it’s fun  
CH: He’s out of the shower turning off my phone 


	4. Chapter 4

When she woke up, Sebastian was propped up on one elbow, watching her.

“Good morning,” he said. 

“Hi.”

“Good sleep?”

She confirmed with a lazy hum. 

“Me too.” 

Too sleepy for the moment to be flustered by his regard, Celia studied Sebastian in turn. His hair was rumpled and his lips chapped, but he looked relaxed. The tension behind his eyes was replaced by something warmer, kinder. They smiled at each other, mildly embarrassed but fond. 

“I know you were joking about marriage proposals, but…” He gave a sideways sort of smile. “That was incredible.” 

Celia stretched her arms over her head to cover her twinge of guilt. “Yeah, it was something.” She found she was sore in places she never expected. Were those finger bruises on her hip? “I feel like I’ve been trampled by a herd of tiny elephants.”

He shook his head, smiling as he sat up. “Not quite what I was hoping to hear, but an interesting image, certainly.” He combed his fingers through his hair. “I apologize; I don’t usually watch people sleep. It must be a potion hangover.”

“Probably,” she said, curling her knees in to her chest. Was it still working a full day later? Maybe this is what Orsino had been warning her about. But it would definitely wear off eventually so… if he was happy, if he’d had fun, it was probably okay if he was a little emotionally mixed-up this morning. Wasn’t it?

Pushing those thoughts away she smiled. “Could it be a straight-up sex hangover? Is that a thing? I’m still not sure I know which way is down.” 

He hummed thoughtfully. “I think I can help you with that.” He slanted his body over hers, kissing her gently and pressing her back toward the bed. “I’m pretty sure down is this direction.” He brushed feather-light kisses from her neck to her breasts and along her stomach. 

“I’m not sure…” Her insides fluttered, and it ached. It wasn’t a bad feeling, exactly, just tender. Sensitive. “I don’t know if I can handle… oh.”

His finger softly brushed against her thighs and they parted instinctively. He lowered his head, nuzzling her so gently that it almost tickled. And then — her skin was hyper-sensitive from too much friction, causing his lightest touch to send her shuddering. 

She changed her mind. She could handle just a little bit more. 

* * *

Eventually they emerged for coffee and cold pizza. Celia went out to the barn to feed Dogmeat. Grumpy about the lateness of his breakfast, he banged the door with his hooves and tossed his head. 

“If you bite me, it will really slow down the feeding process,” she said in a friendly voice. “C’mon. Back up, you big dummy.”

Sebastian trailed behind at a safe distance, coffee cup in hand. 

“What are your plans for the day?” he asked, after she’d finally convinced Dogmeat to move enough for her to get the flake of hay into his feeder. 

“Not sure,” she said, brushing bits of alfalfa off her shirt. “I have some more brewing to do.” Her phone buzzed. She pulled it out of her pocket, silenced the ringer, and put it back without looking. “And I guess phone calls to return.” 

He nodded and looked off toward the ocean. “I should probably let you get on with it, then.” 

“Yeah, I guess.” 

“I want to ask if I can see you again sometime,” he said. “But I don’t think I should.” 

She bit her lip and nodded. 

“It’s…” he trailed off with an embarrassed laugh. “None of my usual excuses feel appropriate.” 

“Then don’t make excuses. It’s fine.” She took the coffee cup from his hand, drank a sip, and handed it back. “Want to go for a walk?” 

  


Fifteen minutes later, they were heading down the road. 

“There’s a little beach down that way — it’s kinda hard to get to, so it’s usually empty,” she said, pointing to a gap in the fence. 

“Why not?” he said, and they sidled through the gap. A narrow trail ran along the fence-line out to the ridge, skimmed the edge for a bit, and dropped sharply down. The rain left the uneven trail full of puddles that reflected the sky. 

“Is it always this muddy?” Sebastian asked as he slid several inches down the slick clay surface before regaining his footing. 

“Did you forget it rained yesterday?” she asked with a teasing smile.

“So it did,” he said. “My mind was otherwise engaged at the time.” 

“Your mind? Really?” she teased. “Sorry about your shoes, though. It will be better when we get to those rocks.” 

Something whizzed by Celia’s ear. She only knew one thing that made that kind of noise. As she turned, she brought her hand up, concentrating to form an icy projectile that narrowly missed the giant spider perched at the edge of the cliff. 

For a moment, she regretted not carrying a stave. She had one that used to be her father’s, but she almost never carried it. Most magic-users didn’t use them in public; nothing screamed “I’m about to cast spells, take me into custody!” like walking around with a big stick in your hand. With practice, almost any mage could cast spells without one, but a stave made aiming easier. Hiking on the coast was the one time it might be practical. 

With a curse, she sent another ice chunk towards the spider, larger this time, and when it hit, the whole spider was momentarily covered in frost. From behind her, a rock the size of her fist sailed past, smacking the spider directly in the mandibles with a satisfying crack. With a wave of its forelegs, the spider retreated, scuttling down the hill and behind a boulder.

“I guess we should go back…” she began, but Sebastian was already moving past her, another rock in hand. 

So he was unfazed by giant spiders. That was a surprise. She hurried after him. 

  


Sebastian hit the spider twice more as it retreated, half-climbing, half-sliding down the cliff in pursuit, clinging to clusters of pampas grass to keep his balance. Celia finally caught up with him as he stopped to pick up another rock, and panting, pulled on his arm. 

“Technically, they’re a protected species,” she said. “We’re allowed to defend ourselves obviously, but…” 

“But we shouldn’t track it back to the nest and destroy it,” he said, sounding disappointed. “Protected? Who would want to protect such a beast?” 

“The caves around here are one of the last native habitats on the surface. Everywhere else has been caved in or built over, or something. I don’t have a problem with ‘live and let live’ as long as they keep their end of the bargain and stay out of my barn.” 

The spider took advantage of the distraction and scuttled out of sight. Sebastian dropped his rock.

“I’ve never seen one before. I know they’re the Maker’s creatures, but… they’re fairly horrifying, aren’t they?” He smoothed back his hair, then shrugged and skidded down the rest of the cliff face toward the beach. 

  


It was small, rocky, crescent shaped beach, with patches of gleaming sand. Gulls screamed overhead, and the waves roared in the distance, crashing against the rocks beyond the surf line before coming, their fury spent, to kiss the shore. Sebastian paused at a large rock, leaning against it to slip off his shoes and socks.

“You’ve got impressive reflexes,” Celia panted, when she finally caught up with him. He was fast. “I’ve never seen anyone successfully chase off a giant spider with just a rock. What sort of sports do royals play, anyway?”

“Polo,” he said shortly. “I’m horrible at it. You should see my brothers, though.” He scowled, dropping his second shoe and stalking toward the water’s edge. 

“What the… what do they have to do with it?” she called after him, untying her own mud-encrusted boots.

“Practically everything,” he muttered, scanning the edge of the waves. He picked up a small stone, a round, flat one that would be good for skipping.

“Does every younger brother have a chip on his shoulder? Because you sound a lot like mine,” she said, joining him at the water’s edge. 

“It’s not that simple when you’re part of a royal family,’ he said, squinting at the waves to time his throw. The rock skimmed three times before disappearing into a swell. “There’s the heir, the spare… and then there’s me. Not important enough to keep around, too important to let go. I might do something embarrassing, after all. A few generations ago, they would have sent me to the Chantry to disappear. It’s a family tradition, they tell me. Fortunately these days it’s considered abuse to send kids into religious life against their will.” 

He scooped up a second rock and threw it with more anger than aim. It smacked directly into an oncoming wave and sank. 

He sounded so much like Carver, she couldn’t help herself. “From what I hear, you haven’t tried very hard not to embarrass them.” 

He scowled. “Is it my fault they’re stuck in the past? I would never endanger the family. They would know that, if they bothered to ask.” 

“I’d be the last one to claim parents can’t be assholes. But still, is it so bad? There have to be some benefits to being part of one of the most prestigious families in the Free Marches.” That’s what her mother was always telling her, certainly. And she couldn’t deny there had been good things that came from reclaiming Leandra’s Amell birthright. Orsino would never have helped forge paperwork for a nobody from Ferelden, however skilled she might have been.

Sebastian sighed. “It’s a rich and powerful name, to be sure, but none of either comes to me. Except, I suppose, the dubious honor of being recognized.” He turned accusatory eyes on her. “Be honest, you’d never have taken me in if not for who I was.”

“You don’t know me.” She gave his shoulder a shove. “Picking up strays is a Hawke family hobby.” 

The corner of his mouth turned down in disbelief.

“I'm serious! Anyone who showed up alone and cold would have found a place to stay.” Anyone hiding from the Templars would have been sheltered twice over, but she wasn’t going to say that to a prince of Starkhaven, no matter how disgruntled he seemed. “That’s how my father was, and that’s how I am. My mother…” she shrugged gloomily, “is different. She’s a Kirkwaller through-and-through. Couldn’t wait to come back to her ‘real’ home and forget everything after he died.” That might be unfair, but that’s how it had felt. 

A wave curled around their feet. The water was icy cold. 

“Forgive me,” Sebastian said after a moment. “I don’t usually talk about my family that way. Not to strangers, at least.” He passed a hand over his face. “I’m sorry about your father,” he added. “It sounds like he was important to you.”

“He was.” He’d held them together. Maybe he wouldn’t have been able to stop the cancer that had taken Bethany, but Carver would never have joined the Wardens when their father was alive. No matter how she tried, she couldn’t fill his shoes. Her family was falling apart. She swallowed the lump in her throat. “He understood me. Taught me magic. Tried to help me be good, though I’m not sure it stuck.” 

Sebastian nodded thoughtfully. “My grandfather did that for me. He saw me, he knew me, and he loved me anyway. He died when I was still young. I wonder sometimes, if I would be different if…”

She slid her hand into his. “Yeah. Me too.”

He laced his fingers through hers, and the ocean pulled at their ankles as the tide went out. 

* * *

It was a quiet ride back into Kirkwall. Sebastian didn’t say a word until they reached the edge of Old Town, and then he only asked Celia to drop him in the Dwarven Market. Long ago, Kirkwall had supposedly been a hub of dwarven trade. These days most of the “crafts of Orzammar” found on every corner come from Ravain, and are no more dwarven than she was. Some of them even had the Tethras clan mark, and Celia knew for a fact that the only remaining members of the Tethras family had lived here on the surface for decades.

She squeezed her truck down a narrow side street and drove all the way to the end. From there, it would only be a short walk down an alley to the Palace Square. 

“Well,” she said, “it was fun. Thanks.”

Sebastian unbuckled his seatbelt. He rubbed his hands against his thighs. “I, ah — I’ll be back in town in a couple of weeks.” 

“I thought you said you couldn’t?”

He nodded slowly. “True. A bad idea.” He smiled, sweet and sad. “Take care, Celia.” 

Then he opened the door and slid out. She watched him stroll down the alley, hands in his pockets. He never looked back. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There might be more of this, someday -- I had a bunch planned and then pandemic happened, and I suddenly lost all desire to write the background plot about Anders and Hawke working together to solve the Kirkwall healthcare crisis. Can't think why. So I tossed all of that out and there wasn't much plot left. We'll see if I can figure out another way to get these two idiots together again.


End file.
